


Swooping Season

by jury



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Consensual Mind Control, First Time Topping, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Role Reversal, Use of Magic or Super Powers During Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Stephen convinces Crane to try something new.





	Swooping Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opheliahyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/gifts).



Dinner was three-quarters finished when he looked up and realised he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. It was so unlike his usual digs; the table was long and the candles fat and bright, the tableware silver and the chair he was sitting on made of bright wood with luxuriant, comfortable cushions. He was holding a silver fork in one hand, poised to stab back down at what remained on his plate. There was an elegant glass in front of him, mostly empty, but cut from crystal with such a deft hand that he knew the glass alone cost more than everything he was wearing and probably everything he owned.

"Mr Crane?" 

He looked up to the other end of the table. There was a man sitting opposite him, dressed in clothes so opulent and well-fitted that Lucien knew he had never and would never wear anything half as nice in his life. He was a man of small stature with tawny hair and a fox like face, but even though he was short, the air of confidence and good breeding contributing to his relaxed sprawl in his chair, the twin of Lucien's own, gave him a presence that extended far beyond height. His fingers were cupped around a glass he was raising to his lips, eyebrows raised with that particular aristocratic arch. 

"Yes," Lucien said, still somehow unable to make that final movement with his fork. He laid it back in its place instead, and frowned down at his hand. For a brief moment his hand did not feel like his own, contributing to the disorientation he was already feeling. He could not remember how he had arrived, or why he was here.

"Are you feeling well?" The man returned to a straight-backed position, placing the glass on the table and leaning forward. "You look a little pale." 

"I am fine," he said. Some instinct was taking over that knew what to do in strange and risky situations. Gather information. A thought was welling up in the back of his mind that felt a little strange, but when he met the eyes of the man across from him, he knew that it was Lord Stephen Day, for whom he had done something that he couldn't quite remember. Whatever it was, he knew enough about himself to know that he was in company far exceeding his own station.

"I have to thank you again for saving my life," Lord Day said. 

"Saving your life," he said.

"Yes," Lord Day said. "You saved my life, and I'm thanking you with this meal."

That was right. He remembered now. It settled over him like a comfortable coat. He, Lucian Crane, had come across a group about to rough up a single man and helped him out. That man had turned out to be Lord Day, and now he was here. He couldn't quite remember any of it, but the story sounded so true that he felt comfortable again, settling a little into his chair. He could feel the pressure of Lord Day's gaze on him, and it made him sweat a little. That felt unusual. In fact, it didn't feel right at all. He furrowed his brow and sat. He knew this place. The walls looked familiar. The way the light fell on the table. Something about it belong to him. His eyes flicked from side to side.

"Mr Crane," Lord Day said again, and Lucien looked up, locked gazes with him. There was something about his eyes that was soothing, like looking at him told him he was meant to be here. "Shall we retire into the library?"

"Yes," he said, and stood, somehow all at once without meaning to, almost spilling his glass of wine. He steadied it and looked up, embarrassed to be so clumsy in the presence of a lord, who was looking at him with something approaching unbearable fondness. That was strange, he thought. Or was it? That, too, felt familiar. He followed Lord Day, his mind snagging on details down the whole corridor. He felt he'd been here before, but couldn't remember when. He lived in a little room on the other side of the city, a brackish little room where the smog blew in and night and he had never been in a room as nice as this before. 

Lord Day opened the door and held it for him. The library had beautiful wallpaper on the walls, crimson with gold details that shone in the gaslight. The books on the walls looked old and fancy, stacked tightly together in rows. The ceiling was a beautiful cream colour with detailing. Whoever had designed this room had impeccable taste. He said as much. Lord Day smiled. "Really?" he said. "I hate it."

"What?" Lucien said. "I thought you liked it." Day frowned, forehead wrinkling, and whatever Lucien had been thinking drifted away as his gaze turned back to the fire burning cheerfully in the grate. He warmed his hands while Lord Day poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to him. Lucien swirled it idly in his hand. There was a red Chesterfield sofa near the fire, and Lucien went to it and sat down, because that seemed like the right thing to do. Lord Day followed, sitting with his back against the arm of the chair. Lucien felt hot inside his own skin, the line of his jacket pulling across his shoulders. Lord Day was talking about something but he had stopped listening some time ago, looking at at the juncture of the man's jaw as he tilted his head, where there was a little bruise peeping out over the edge of his collar. He cocked his head to get a better look, and that was when Lord Day stopped talking.

"What are you looking at, Mr Crane?" he said. Lucien looked him, tongue thick and stupid in his mouth.

"What?" he said. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," he said, and then, "no. You have a — " his hand went up to touch his own neck. " — a bruise. Were you hurt in the alley?"

"Oh?" Lord Day said, mirroring his movement. "In the alley? No." His fingers lingered on the bruise. He put his brandy down on the side table and then reached over and took Lucien's too, placing it on the table next to him. "Could you show me where it is?" He reached over and took Lucien's hand from where it was sweating on his knee and brought it up to his neck. Lord Day's hand was hot, the skin soft and smooth, accompanied with a tingling frisson of sensation. Lucien surmised that was what hands were like if you spent your days in a house like this. Then his hand was on Lord Day's neck, where he could feel the hot blood in his neck, his thumb skimming across the bruise. He had to hook his finger under his collar and pull it down a little to see the extent of the bruise, which was longer than he expected, spanning the length of his thumb. It looked like a bruise — he hesitated, then snatched his hand back. It looked like a bruise from a mouth. 

"Is it bad?" Lord Day said, his fingers still at the bruise, dark against his skin. He moved a little closer and arched his neck into the light. Lucien had to force himself to pull his eyes up to meet Lord Day's golden eyes, shining in the light. When he made eye contact, it felt like everything else around him was falling away. Lord Day reached out and took his hand. He moved a little closer, enough that Lucien could feel the heat of his body. "What did you think, seeing me in that alley? What was your first thought before leaping into action?" 

"I don't remember," Lucien said.

"I do," Lord Day said. "You saw one man on his knees surrounded by three others. Isn't that what you remember?" His hand was still on Lucien's and he could feel that strange prickling sensation again, lancing into his flesh. With that contact, the memories came back, startlingly vivid.

"Yes," he said. "That's what I remember." He had been walking home alone at night and heard a scuffle in an alley, peeked in and saw a finely-dressed man on his knees in front of — he swallowed. 

Lord Day smiled, releasing his hand and reaching up to touch Lucien's neck. He shuddered at that same feeling of needling energy, a frisson of spikes that slid across his skin. What was it? Was it just what he felt when someone touched him — like this? Lord Day slid off the couch in a dazzling display of disregard for the condition of his clothing, his hand moving down to Lucien's thigh. Lucien made a noise up the back of his throat and swallowed. "What are you doing?"

"I thought it might help you remember," Lord Day said. "I was like this, right?" 

"That's right," Lucien said. He was shivering a little with the sensation of Lord Day's hand sitting on his thigh, the muted hum of prickling still palpable through the fabric of his pants.

"And what did you think when you saw me like that — like this?" He tilted his head down and looked up at Lucien through his eyelashes. Lucien swallowed.

"I — "

"I suppose you thought that was a pleasant sight to see," he said, and leaned forward until his head was resting against the bone of Lucien's knee, then reached up and pushed his legs apart, glancing up to make eye contact with Lucien again. His hands moved up from his knees and to the waist of his pants, pulling his shirt out from where it was tucked, skin brushing against skin on the flat of Lucien's stomach, making him jump. "Was this what you were thinking of?"

"I don't — " Lucien's head spun. Was it what he had been thinking of? He had never thought about anything like this before, let alone having a lord down at his feet, but maybe — his eyes met Lord Day's again. He had a queer, foxy look in his eyes, like the creature itself spying a rabbit from afar. "Yes," he said, because it was true. He had been thinking about Lord Day on his knees, but, by God, he hadn't imagined that he would look so comfortable there. "That was what I was thinking of."

"What was?" 

"You, like that," he said, putting a hand over his eyes.

"Like what?" Lord Day said, cocking his head.

"About to — "

"About to what?"

"About to suck my cock," he said, unable to break eye contact with Lord Day and his huge, hypnotising eyes. 

"That sounds about right," Lord Day said, and reached forward to undo Lucien's trousers, his hands hot and quick, his thumb brushing right at the base of Lucien's cock and forcing his hips to kick forward. Day shouldered his way between his legs and bent his head down as he pulled Lucien's cock out. Lucien could see his wet mouth and pink tongue right next to his half-hard cock, feel the heat of his breath against his skin. He was growing dizzy with how fast his cock was getting hard, that strange, sensation from Lord Day's hands not painful but something on the direct edge of pain, skirting close enough that it felt like pleasure. "How many men have you had do this to you?"

Lucien bit his tongue. It stuttered against the roof of his mouth as he forced words to come forth. "None?" he said.

Stephen's hands faltered, slipping away from Crane's cock, and he looked up, perturbed. "Now, that's just not believable," he said, brow furrowed.

Crane smiled and raised an eyebrow. "What on earth are you trying to say about me?" he said. "You think poor Lucien Crane, bricklayer, has had many young lords such as yourself bend over for him?"

"Bricklayer?" Stephen said, aghast. "How much time did you spend thinking up a — character?" 

"Might I remind you that this was all your idea," Crane said, " _my lord_." Stephen jumped, flushing red high on his cheeks, his hands moving on Crane's stomach. 

"I didn't think you'd break the fluence quite so easily while you were distracted," Stephen grumbled.

"It was easy while _you_ were distracted," Crane said airily. Stephen frowned and laid his hands flat on Crane's stomach. He rolled his hips up to meet them, but instead of moving them down, Stephen furrowed his brow and whatever Lucien had been thinking drifted away, leaving his thoughts muddled.

"I'm sorry," Lord Day said, arch, "what were you saying?"

"None," Lucien said, his hips twisting up against Lord Day's harsh grip. For a small man, he had a hidden strength about him that Lucien hadn't anticipated. His hips were growing warm and oversensitive as that strange sensation travelled down into the bone. Lucien gasped as Lord Day leaned down and licked at the head of his cock, the soft, hot feeling subsuming him until his focus had narrowed down to just that sensation, the slide of his pointed tongue against the sensitive head of his cock. Lucien didn't know what to do with his hands, clenching them against the couch, then touching the soft crown of Lord Day's hair, pulling away again. Lord Day leaned back. 

"You can touch," he said, and bent his head down again, his hand encircling the base of Lucien's cock and his mouth engulfing the top. Lucien grunted, fighting the urge to shove his hips up and push his cock down into Lord Day's mouth. His blood was surging in his veins, every instinct telling him to grip Lord Day's hair, pull his head back and fuck his mouth. He groaned. Lord Day's hand touching his cock was almost more than he could bear, like being struck by lightning. Lucien realised the wet noise he could hear was the sound of Lord Day's mouth against his cock and pushed forward into that noise, the electricity from his hand playing in counterpoint to the wet slide of Lord Day's mouth. He was beginning to sweat on the back of his neck, his breath coming fast. Lord Day looked up at him, and Lucien could see where his cock was pressing into his mouth. Lord Day moaned and they made eye contact, Lucien realising that Lord Day was hard just from having his cock in his mouth and pushing at the back of his throat, his face flushed and pupils dilated until his golden eyes were almost obscured. The wave of electricity from his hands was ebbing and flowing, bringing Lucien to the peak and away again and again until he was shivering all over, consumed with the desire to seek his release. 

Lord Day pushed forward, gripping at Lucien's hips, sliding his cock into his mouth to the hilt, his face pressed against the hair there, swallowing. Lucien could no longer stand the heat and pressure and grabbed roughly at Lord Day's hair, eschewing good manners and coming down his throat. Lord Day groaned, his fingers going lax against Lucien's stomach as his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them again they were glowing bright gold, and Lucien could hear the sound of beating wings behind his own gasping breath. Stephen slid Crane's cock out of his mouth and spend a second cleaning him up with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Not _that_ handkerchief," Crane said, voice ragged. "Do you have any idea — "

"You know I don't care," Stephen said, looking up at him. Crane's magpies were flying over his skin, appearing and disappearing in the slice of skin revealed by his rucked up shirt. Crane smiled down at him. He could very much get used to Stephen leaning his head against Crane's thigh while wearing clothes of that quality.

"Is that what you think I'm like?" Crane said, reaching out to toy with Stephen's hair. 

"No," Stephen said, his voice muffled by his face pressed into the rough fabric of Crane's trousers. "I think you're much worse." 

Crane stroked Stephen's hair back from his forehead, then slid his foot along the line of his thigh, then pressing up against the rigid line of his cock. Stephen gasped, hips seeking forward against the dull pressure. "If you're me and I'm you," he said, "are you saying that you would leave me wanting?" 

Stephen looked up, Crane distracted by the flourish of movement below his neck where he had pulled his shirt open to gain some air. "Have I ever," he said, "left you wanting?"

"Yes," Crane said, without hesitation. Stephen looked aggrieved.

"Name one — "

"Why, the first time we met, of course," he said, reclining back against the couch. Stephen narrowed his eyes, but could not come up with a reasonable retort. Crane smiled. "How did you taking the leading role end up with you sucking my cock, anyway?" Stephen flushed, but put his hands on Crane's knees and stood, his lithe body rising with grace. He put his knee between Crane's legs and leaned forward, placing his arms on Crane's shoulders and resting his weight there, his hands coming around behind him to rest on the nape of Crane's neck. He shivered with the sensation they brought as Stephen ran his fingers across the top of his spine, dipping underneath the collar of his shirt.

"What would you have me do, then?" 

"I don't think that's how you lead," Crane said, reaching down to put his hands on Stephen's waist and pulling him firmly against his body. He was warm, his heart beating a fast rhythm against Crane's. 

"I suppose not," Stephen said against his ear, then replaced his voice with the warm, wet pressure of his teeth and tongue against his earlobe. "I think the question I should be asking is 'what would you do'. But the problem is your unpredictability."

"I'm perfectly predictable," Crane said, tapping a single finger against the top of Stephen's hip. "I've learned what I like and I know how to carry it out. It's really that simple."

"I don't think it's that simple," Stephen said. "Because you like everything." Crane chuckled, and felt Stephen's hands quiver, the lightning rising against his neck. "I think it might be harder to lead you, being as tall as you are."

Crane tilted his head to the side, as much as it pained him to move away from Stephen's mouth. "It's nothing to do with height," he said. "It's all about nature." 

"You have a particularly wicked nature," Stephen said, and pulled away from Crane, whose body leaned forward in an attempt to follow him.

"I've long suspected that's what you like about me," Crane said, with an airiness he didn't quite feel. Stephen turned without speaking and went towards the little door to the bedroom pausing there to take his jacket off, then disappeared into the next room. Intrigued, Crane followed, entering the room and closing the door behind him. Stephen was sitting on the bed, hands flat on his knees. There was something about his posture that demanded obedience, even though his face looked like he was struggling a little to carry it off.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

Crane made an elaborate bow and began pulling the hateful shirt that Merrick had procured for him without even blinking an eye at the request, although his raised eyebrow had told Crane that he certainly wasn't going to ask, probably because he knew he would be told the answer. The trousers soon followed. 

"I've got a book about this," he said, "if it helps." 

Stephen raised his eyebrows. "A book?"

"I mean, it's in Shanghainese," he said, taking off his socks and shoes. "But I could read it to you. No pictures. Merrick made me throw the ones with pictures off the side of the boat. Shame, they were quite good."

" _Pictures_?" Stephen said.

"It was a romance about a king and a man who was a dragon," Crane continued, finishing stripping off and going to take a step forward, and found he couldn't move. Stephen had narrowed his golden eyes and was looking Crane up and down, the nervousness in his expression melting into a mischievous smile.

"I think you're supposed to be quiet," he said.

"Then tell me to be quiet," Crane said. "You're in charge, my lord." Stephen jumped a little at that, and then stood and walked around Crane until he was behind him, and he had to guess at what he was doing from the soft sound of his steps and the brush of his breath against Crane's back. 

"Be quiet," Stephen said, voice soft, but it still made Crane swallow. It reminded him, with a jolt, of how Stephen was as a justicar, commanding all the attention in the room, making orders that he expected to be followed to the letter. He felt a sudden urge to turn and meet his eyes, but found that he was still bound standing where he was, unable to move. Well, not completely unable to move. His cock was filling again, standing to attention, even more so as Stephen touched his hip, hands sliding down and around his waist in a way that both piqued Crane's curiosity and soothed him. He was suddenly released from his binds, rocking forward slightly. He couldn't quite tell where each of Stephen's next touches would come from. Then he heard Stephen's nervous laughter, the feeling of his hands against his skin rolling back and forth. "You being quiet makes me nervous," he said.

"It just means I trust you," Crane said, with the bare tenderness he knew occasionally made Stephen balk. "There's no harm in it. If you — "

"No," Stephen said, with surprising surety. "I want to do it. Maybe if you — " He gently nudged Crane towards the bed, who turned when his knees met it and lay down, unexpectedly disarmed by the sight of Stephen above him, his lips red and swollen from his own teeth worrying at them. He mounted the bed and crawled up on top of Crane and leaned down to kiss him, leading the kiss with a pressure Crane was unaccustomed to, his tongue hot and probing into his mouth, pulling back to bite a little at his lips, the fabric of his suit smooth and heavy against Crane's skin, making him acutely aware of his nakedness. The magpies on his chest were settling, still flapping. Stephen's mouth tasted like Crane's spend and brandy, hot and heady. He couldn't help making a noise as Stephen's thigh intruded against his cock, the tension spreading through his hips and stomach as a yawning desire opened up in him. 

Stephen sat up, hair dishevelled, and began to unbutton his shirt, casting it down off the side of the bed. Crane sighed to see one of the best quality things he owned be thrown down so casually, and then smiled up at Stephen as he turned back. "No, no," he said. "You're in charge. Do with your things as you will."

"Are you calling yourself mine?" Stephen said, and Crane swallowed.

"Yes," he said. Stephen blinked, disarmed by the easy acceptance. 

"Well," he said, and looked as if he was trying to turn that acceptance to his advantage. "Do you think of me when we're apart?"

"Constantly," Crane said.

"No, I mean," Stephen said, and ran his hand down his own stomach and into his trousers, closing around the length of his cock and sighing into the pleasure of his own touch. "I mean like this."

" _Constantly_ ," Crane repeated. Stephen flushed red, hips pushing forward into his own hand, his weight an exciting pressure across Crane's pelvis. He couldn't help himself — Stephen hadn't told him not to touch — and put his hands on Stephen's thighs, feeling the muscle working there, then slid his hand across over the top of Stephen's trousers, feeling the ridges of his knuckles start and stop as he worked himself against his hand. Stephen gasped and pushed forward at that additional pleasure, one hand coming down on Crane's chest to balance himself, the sensation of his hand so intense Crane thought he might come untouched. "I want you to fuck me," he said.

Stephen raised his head, somehow managing to affect an imperious gaze despite what his hand was telling Crane he was feeling. "Are you sure that's what _I_ want?" 

"Are you saying you don't?" Crane said. "Because if not — "

"No, I want to," Stephen said. "Where's the — do I need the — "

"It's in the drawer there," Crane said. The drawer slammed open with a bang and the vial of oil he kept there floated up and into the air and into Stephen's outstretched hand. He had to work a little to get his trousers off, leaving Crane bereft of his warm, pinning weight for a few moments until he returned, oil clutched in his hand like a treasure. But he didn't act as directly as Crane thought he would, instead returning to lie at his side, kissing first the side of his mouth, then moving away as Crane turned to him, then moving his lips down to his neck and kissing the juncture of his jaw, across his collarbone and then down across his nipple, laving briefly with his tongue. His other hand worked down between Crane's legs, and Crane parted his thighs accordingly, his heart working to a fast tempo. Stephen looked up and met his eyes, golden with lust, and he felt the tingling from his hands increase. One hand brushed against his perineum and then, wetly, down to his hole, Stephen's fingers pressing there. Crane grunted, his hips kicking up as Stephen took his cock with his other hand and gently began to stroke it in counterpoint to the slick finger working itself up inside Crane.

"I could get used to this," Stephen said, voice tight with arousal.

"I could get used to you doing some of the work for once — " Crane said, cutting himself off as Stephen frowned and slid a second finger in without warning, increasing the pace of his hand on Crane's cock. He had thought that it would be possible to keep a clear head the whole time, but he had not accounted for the maddening sensation of Stephen's hands both on his cock and inside him, the feeling somehow joining inside him and flaring to life. He was caught betwixt them, his body unsure whether to push up or press down and doing both. He could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck and behind his knees, his breath turning into ragged gasps as Stephen pushed and stretched his fingers, face the one of stern concentration Crane more associated with work than sex. That, too, was oddly arousing. He wasn't sure he could survive having Stephen's full attention on him very often.

"You're quite eager for someone that's already had his cock sucked," Stephen said mildly, cracking his fingers, blatantly searching out for Crane's prostate. He found it quite by accident, the tips of his fingers knocking against it, and Crane shouted, his leg kicking and cock tapping up against his stomach as Stephen released it. He reached for Stephen blindly, sweat stinging his eyes. Stephen leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the lips, Crane's mouth falling open and Stephen curling his tongue inside, pressing a third finger inside Crane who moaned. Stephen worked his prostate slowly, almost like he was teasing, watching Crane's reaction to each ministration he made. "Is that enough?" he said. "Is that enough?"

"Never enough from you, my lord," Crane said, just to see Stephen's reaction in return, which was to blush and look away, panting for breath, pressing his cock into Crane's hip.

"Is that what I sound like?" he said, when he had regained a modicum of composure.

"No," Crane said. "You beg much more beautifully than me." Stephen's eyes widened and sat up, moving between Crane's spread legs. Crane's breath quickened. He could see everything — feel everything as Stephen pressed the head of his cock against Crane's hole, his skin impossibly hot, darts of sensation sparking off his hands and shooting up like fireworks right to his cock. He tilted his hips up and Stephen pressed the tip of his cock inside him, the hot, blunt stretch making his mind go blank and his mouth wet as his head fell back. Stephen's mouth was open just enough that Crane could see the point of his tongue as he gasped and slipped a hand down. At first Crane couldn't tell what he was doing, but then realised he was holding the base of his cock to stop himself from coming. "What does it feel like?" he said.

"I think — you — know," Stephen said, breath coming too fast to form words.

"Tell me," he said.

" _Fuck_ ," Stephen said, and pressed another inch of his cock into Crane, the stretch feeling like he was being split open and laid bare just for Stephen's pleasure. "Feels hot," he said, thickly. "Feels like you're on fire inside." His hips stuttered the beginning of a shallow rhythm as he drew back and pressed forward again, overwhelmed. "Oh, God," Stephen said, pressing forward helplessly until he bottomed out, sliding his cock right against Crane's prostate, who moaned and squeezed around Stephen as best he knew how. "Oh, fuck," Stephen said, his eyes squeezing closed as he fell forward onto Crane's chest, hips working aimlessly like he couldn't hold himself still. Each shallow thrust was accompanied by Stephen's thready moans rising towards the ceiling, his hands gripping Crane's hips hard enough to bruise. He wrapped his legs around Stephen's waist and urged him on, Stephen's thrusts becoming deeper and harder until Crane could barely think, his world narrowing down to the wet slide in and out of him, Stephen's hands raising goosebumps from his skin. "Oh, God," Stephen said.

"Please," Crane said, tasting the submission unfamiliar on his tongue. Stephen's head snapped up. "Please, Stephen," he said. Stephen leaned down and kissed him gracelessly, little more than a wet slide of tongues as his hips stilled down to a grind, his hand sliding up to cover Crane's tattoos which were being set awhirl again, then down to his cock. The first touch of the reverberation of Stephen's hands sent him off, and he was coming between their bodies, slicking his own stomach. It felt like he was coming out of his own body, his brain fizzing uselessly as he moaned loud enough to bounce off the walls, feeling each pulse of come hit his stomach and chest, hearing Stephen's answering whine as he drove his cock two, three, four times more into Crane, the overstimulation making his mind spin. He reached up and pulled Stephen against him as he felt Stephen begin to come inside him, catching a glimpse of his wide, golden eyes as the air in the room seemed to tremble, the table rattling and a book or two falling off the shelves next door as he felt the hot surge of Stephen's come enter him, Stephen falling flat against him and rapidly gasping for breath.

Crane encircled him with his arms, the tattoos flying madly between them. He leaned up to kiss Stephen's mouth, Stephen without the energy to do anything more than softly mouth at his lips, power rushing through him, his skin hot and heart beating fast against Crane's chest, the echo of his own. After a moment or two he began to come back to himself, reaching down to free himself from Crane's body, who sighed at the sensation of him slipping free. 

"I think I need a cloth," Stephen said, panting against Crane's skin. 

"Just use my clothes," Crane said, wrinkling his nose. 

"Or mine."

" _Not_ yours," Crane said. Stephen was slick with sweat and gently quivering with aftershocks against Crane's chest, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes fluttering shut. "Don't fall asleep yet," Crane said, and Stephen opened his eyes.

"I did all the work," he said. "Doesn't that merit a rest?"

" _I_ don't fall asleep directly after," Crane said. 

"Sometimes you do."

Crane couldn't argue, and so tucked his nose against the top of Stephen's head and breathed the scent of his body as he nuzzled at Crane's neck, his body language open and sated. They lay there for a moment more, breathing in unison, until Stephen raised his head quizzically.

"What did Merrick think when you asked him to get you those clothes?" he said.

"I don't want to think about that right now," Crane said. "Besides, you can ask him yourself. Although I suppose after the first ten seconds he might have fled the house never to return." Stephen blushed, horrified, and put his head back down. 

"I'm not going to ask him that."

"Then you're free to wildly speculate about his wild speculation," Crane said, rolling Stephen off to the side so that he could embrace his body with his own, tucking him against his chest, Stephen making a tired noise and closing his eyes. "Sometimes I think the greatest pleasure in my life is getting you to sleep for a solid night," he said, quietly. Stephen opened his eyes again, the lights in the room winking out one by one.

"I thought it was getting to dress me," he said, sly.

"I thought it was too, before I learned of your proclivity to throw the things I buy for you on the ground but treat your own with care."

"You do choose things with care," Stephen said begrudgingly.

"I do," Crane said, "and so do you." He tilted Stephen's head up for a last kiss before he felt Stephen's body go lax, his breath smooth with sleep, and felt himself follow suit.


End file.
